I'm Always Home
by theheartofadetective
Summary: A man who is married to his work doesn't have time for sentiment, but when his favourite pathologist helps him in his time of need during The Reichenbach Fall, he has no choice but to live in her flat to lay low, and things start to feel different. Sherlock/Molly, otherwise known as Mollock or Sherlolly. Reviews appreciated! Thanks!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Molly came out of her bedroom and threw on her coat and scarf. She wanted to look extra nice today, with false hope she would make an impression on him. She had been more dolled up than usual for work since he had been at her flat, but it was only because she didn't want Sherlock to see her otherwise on her way out the door.

Before a word could escape her lips, Sherlock spoke without removing his eyes from the telly. "You were awake much earlier than usual and you're wearing more makeup." He was clearly bored. He hadn't said a word about the way she looked when she was leaving for work since he'd been there.

"I-Did I wake you up? I've been trying to be extra quiet so you could get some rest, I'm sorry," she said, getting anxious.

"Haven't slept. Your footsteps are heavier than John's anyway, it would've woken me."

She was going to ask if he missed John, but she knew she wouldn't get the truth. He missed John; John was the first person to actually want to live with him, and he felt as though John was his only friend. But now, his only friend thought he was dead.

"Well, anyway,…" she said, looking down at the floor, blushing from the insult, "I'll be home from work around 5:30," she was still newly uncomfortable with this living situation.

It was going to take a lot for her to get used to Sherlock Holmes living in her flat for the time being. She certainly was starting to understand how John felt living with him, but she knew he didn't have anywhere else to go. She didn't mind him being there, but it was strange to her and she didn't know how to interact with him without her usual awkward, uncomfortable mannerisms getting in her way of conversation. Though how much _conversation_ could anyone have with Sherlock Holmes before they had enough. Lately, she had just felt safer staying in her room due to her lack of social skills, especially the nerves she had when attempting to converse with _him_.

"I know your schedule," he stated, still staring at the telly, "I've been stuck in your boring flat for almost two weeks; of course I'd know it by now."

She wasn't sure whether to be happy he was paying attention, or to feel bad he was stuck and bored. "Is there anything you wanted me to get you before I come home? Did you want take-away?"

"I don't want anything."

"Sherlock, you have to eat something. You've barely had anything."

"I needed a place to stay, I didn't ask you to mother me," he said, childishly curling up in the fetal position, facing the back of the couch he had already claimed as his own. He'd barely moved from it since the beginning of his stay.

"Sorry," she said, a frown now occupying her face; she only felt comfortable showing it because his back was turned. He had been ruder to her than usual. It wasn't that she expected a thank you, but he could at least be somewhat appreciative.

"You're late," he chimed.

"What-Oh!," she squeaked. "Try and have a good day…," she said without confidence as she shut the door behind her.

She jumped in the cab silently; she didn't even need to give the cabby the address since he had brought her to work so many times. She stared out the window and tried to put this all together; it was stressing her out. She was tired of feeling stuck in her room at night, but how could she get used to someone else being in her flat if she avoided them.

Before she knew it, she was at St. Bart's, and would just have to leave her thoughts until later.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

She walked up the stairs, her hands full from the take away, struggling to grab her keys out of her purse.

"Can you get the door?" she said, but after waiting a minute, there was no answer. She finally managed to open the door, to find Sherlock sitting on the couch with a book in his hand… and her entire bookshelf empty. There were stacks of books thrown everywhere; she was wide-eyed.

"I, uhm-"

"I wanted something to read, took a while to find something good, " he answered, skimming through the book still without looking up.

"So you… took every book off the shelf?"

"Obviously."

She sighed and just let it go, trying to pretend there wasn't a huge mess in her sitting room. The rest of her flat was almost spotless. Being by herself, she was able to keep her flat exactly as she wanted it, which was another thing she would have to get used to. "I know you said you didn't want anything, but I got you take away," she said, putting the box next to him on the coffee table. "If you need anything else, just let me know."

She scurried into her room and sat on her bed, flicking the styrofoam tab on the take away box, too distracted to eat. She was right about what she was thinking earlier; if she avoided Sherlock, there would be no progress of friendship, it would just be more difficult to get used to him being there if she didn't go out. Determined to make the situation easier, she grabbed the box and went into the sitting room, sitting down in her favourite chair. She had really missed it; it was one of her most comfortable spots in the whole flat.

She ate her food while Sherlock continued to read, leaving his food untouched. She turned on the telly after he put his book down and they sat in silence watching. It seemed like forever they had been sitting there completely wordless and for her, it was starting to get uncomfortable.

"You can use that spare bedroom, you know; it's there for you. Don't feel as though you have to sleep on the couch."

"I told you, I haven't really been sleeping", he said, finally looking at her when he spoke instead of staring blankly.

There was silence for a few minutes before Sherlock spoke up again, "you're tired."

"Huh?" she said, opening her eyes, getting groggy.

"You're usually in bed by now, and you're also sliding out of that chair."

She woke up to the sight of Sherlock lying on the couch, finally sleeping. She realized she had fallen asleep when he was telling her she was tired the night before. She looked around and to see, to her surprise, that her sitting room was no longer a mess. All of the books put back on the shelf where he had found them, and even in the correct order.

She cracked a smile, really impressed that he had done that for her, and also was nice enough to stay quiet while he fixed the state of her sitting room. When she went to rub her eyes, she looked down to see a blanket spread out across her that had not been there before she fell asleep. Maybe it was going to be easier than she thought to deal with Sherlock.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Sherlock was playing the violin Molly had rented for him, hoping it would help keep him occupied since he couldn't even go outside. Molly should have been home by now; since he had been there, her routine hadn't changed much, but she should've been home no later than three hours ago. He had left her a string of texts to see if she'd respond. One saying there was no food and he was hungry, another saying he might've broken the violin (of course, he'd never break it, he held that too priceless, and even he wouldn't be rude enough to purposely mishandle a gift he had been given), but no reply.

This was ridiculous; he was living here for the purpose of protecting his friends. But the one person he couldn't protect now was the one who had been kindest to him; he couldn't go outside. He decided that if she wasn't back within the hour, he was going to have to go out anyway.

After pacing so much that there should have been a track in the floor, he heard voices and could make out three sets of footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Thank you for taking me home. I'll be okay, I just think I need to be alone," her voice sounded shaky and broken up, like she had been crying.

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay, it might be safer if you aren't alone. Or even if you wanted, you could stay at Baker Street, there's a bed for you and everything," you could hear the sadness in his voice as the last part trailed off, but he was concerned for her.

Sherlock's ears perked to the sound of John's voice. He hid around the corner just in case someone followed Molly into the flat, but was listening through the wall. It was bothering him that he couldn't just go out there, and see John, and what he assumed was also Lestrade, but he knew something bad had happened and he was more focused on figuring out what was going on.

"No, John, really, I'll be okay," her hands were shaking so badly, John had to unlock the door for her. She shut the door of the flat and turned her back towards it, leaning up against it. Sherlock could hear sniffles as she unbuttoned her coat and slid down 'til her bum hit the floor. She put her face in her hands and started to sob, but she could tell someone was there, and remembered that she didn't live alone anymore. The commotion going on with her made it the first time in a few weeks she hadn't been so concerned with Sherlock, but more with herself.

She looked down at the floor and refused to look up at him, not wanting him to see her tearing eyes. This felt pathetic and embarrassing for her. "Hey," she said, trying not to put any emotion in her voice, as she stood up. She tried to walk past him, but he stopped her, gently touching her arms so she stayed where she was standing.

Sherlock examined every inch of her that was visible to him. Her makeup smudged from a large amount of crying. Her ripped t-shirt made the already-forming bruises on her shoulders visible; her wrists also bruised, and a small cut next to her eyebrow dried with caked-on blood.

"You were assaulted," he said, realizing how insensitive his voice sounded and cringing.

"Yes, Sherlock, I was, thank you for the kind reminder."

"I'm sorry, Molly, comfort isn't my thing. I meant to ask if you are alright."

"I'm fine-"

"You're shaking so hard that your voice is too, I don't think that passes for being okay," he said, seeming more concerned than she expected. She was losing the energy to wonder if Sherlock was actually that concerned, or happier that it was a distraction from boredom.

She tried to tell him exactly what happened, but it wasn't exactly working very well. With fatigue overtaking her state, her emotions became uncontrollable and she was sobbing so hard that Sherlock couldn't understand what she was saying anymore. She let her face fall on his chest and continued sobbing.

His face fell from angry to worried, and his body became frozen for a second; he knew there was something he was supposed to be doing to console her, but he didn't know what. Eventually he gently patted her back and assumed that it worked because she started to become calmer. It took a long time, but he patiently waited for her to stop crying. She was falling asleep on his chest.

"Molly-"

"What? Oh, I'm, uhm, I'm sorry," she pulled herself off of Sherlock and was dragging her feet across the floor, trying to make it to her room. She tripped on something in the hall and almost fell on the floor, but Sherlock caught her shoulders and stood her upright helping her into her room.

Sherlock was about to shut her door, but he felt really uncomfortable. He figured that if there was any time he should repay her for being so helpful when he could trust no one else, he should be doing it now.

She was already laying in her bed when Sherlock poked his head back in, "uhm, Molly?"

She let out a groan to signal that she was listening. "If you- if there's anything you need, just let me know."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Sherlock paced the hall outside her room, quietly. He was furious and he could feel his blood beginning to boil. If there was an emotion that came out in Sherlock, it was usually anger. He couldn't handle the people he cared about being harmed. It was still frustrating him that he couldn't go outside. If he did, he'd have caught the guy that hurt her. His fists were clenched and his knuckles pale.

He tried to clear his mind of the emotions disrupting his thinking, and figured out that there was something he could do. He grabbed her coat that was on the floor and took off any evidence that he could find, but the rest of her clothes couldn't be examined until morning.

Molly woke up, assuming she would have to be leaving for work soon. She looked at the clock and was relieved she had extra time to shower, her head was still spinning and eyes tired from being mentally drained, so hopefully the shower would help.

She made her way into the bathroom and took off her clothes, making the water as hot as she could before she got in. She sat there while the water poured down on her, pulling her legs up to her chest, and burying her head between her knees, trying to cry quietly so she wouldn't wake Sherlock. He had finally ventured off of the couch and was sleeping in the other bedroom, so he was closer.

Sherlock hadn't slept. How could he sleep? He barely had the room to focus, let alone letting his brain shut down when he needed to get all of the evidence together for Lestrade. Sherlock opened the bathroom door so he could collect her clothes for evidence when he heard her crying. This brought back some of the anger, but it made him more determined to gather up all the evidence quickly, as he did and shut the door.

Molly pulled her head up. She thought she heard a door close, but she figured the flashbacks probably just had her on hyper awareness and hearing things. Though, when she pushed the shower curtain open and grabbed a towel, she realized the previous night's shirt and pants were no longer on the floor where she had left them.

She got dressed and didn't even remember to put on her makeup or fix her hair. She walked out into the sitting room to find a hot cup of tea sitting on the coffee table. He was finishing packing up the bag of evidence.

"Did you need something in the bath-"

"Yes, your clothes."

Her eyes went wide; she was really confused. He put the bag in her hands and she looked down at it. "You need to bring this to Lestrade."

"I don't understand, what is this?"

"I gathered all of the evidence I could from your clothes, and Lestrade can find out who did this," his face looked angry and sad all at once.

"Oh, well, thank you," she was still really surprised. "I'm going to have to leave for work in a few minutes."

"I know. That tea is for you, and a cab is already on its way," he said, already at the window, pulling the curtain away so he could look outside. "You're not to go outside until the cabby pulls right up. He's going to take you to the station and inside there's a note, in your handwriting, explaining the evidence. You're going to tell him you gathered as much as you could. From there, you will go straight to work. You won't need to order a cab tonight either, I already instructed him to take you home."

Molly was bewildered. Not only had he not talked this much since he was here, but she didn't understand why he was doing this for her. A small smile came across her face.

"Don't worry, Molly, they're going to catch him," he said, staring out the window, still waiting for the cabby, "they better, or I'll have to do it myself."

Molly finally spoke up, "thank you, Sherlock, for all of this. Don't go out anywhere though, you know you can't; you can't risk being noticed. I don't need anyone getting hurt at my expense."

"Your cab is here."

Molly went outside quickly and got in the cab. She was so lost in her thoughts she barely remembered the ride to the station, and even going into the station, let alone the ride to work. She couldn't grasp this side of Sherlock, but it definitely seemed like it was a good thing. After the surprise in her wore off, she began to think again about the previous night's event. She couldn't keep thinking about it; she just needed to get to work so that she could focus on her work, it soothed her.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

They had sent her home early. She couldn't focus, she was sore, moving slow, and her work just wasn't enough of a distraction today.

On her way into the cab, her phone rang, and John was on the other line.

"Hello?" Molly tried to sound better than she was.

"Hey Molly, how are you holding up?"

"Oh, I'm okay, I feel almost better already."

"I know you tried to be brave around Sher-, around him," his voice almost broke, he still wasn't able to say his name, "but you… don't need to be. What happened to you was traumatic, and you can talk about it if you need to talk to someone. At least let me come over and examine you, so we know you're okay…"

"No, John, it's alright; I don't want to burden you. I'm sure you have better things to do then to look after me."

John's voice sounded quieter now, very sad. "It was bad enough, losing one friend. I can't bear the thought of losing another. If you won't let me look you over for the sake of yourself, will you let me so I'll know that you're okay?"

She held back a sigh; there was no way she could refuse him now. "Alright, John, I'll be home in a few minutes. You can come over whenever you'd like, just send a text before you leave."

As she was stepping out the cab, her phone dinged; he was already on his way. She hurried upstairs and shut the door behind her.

"Sherlock, we have a problem."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"What?" he said instinctively, looking her over; "did someone hurt you?" The look of fury came upon his face.

"No, nothing like that, but... John is coming over."

Sherlock's face dropped.

She continued. "I didn't know what to do. He sounds so sad about you, and he was telling me that he didn't want to lose another friend and just wanted to make sure I was okay. I couldn't refuse him." She looked down, feeling like she made a bad situation worse and was disappointing Sherlock.

"It's fine," he said, grabbing anything that looked like it wouldn't be hers. "I'll sit in your bedroom until he's gone."

"I'm-"

"You don't need to apologize. John has the right to know you're okay. I can't even protect you, but he can."

After examining her, he sat down for a few minutes and she made them both tea. She was anxious, trying to figure out a way to get rid of him, but what was supposed to be John checking up on her turned more into John needing comfort.

"I just don't get it, Molly. I don't believe him; there has to be a reason why he told me that he lied. I feel like there's something more, like I'm supposed to be looking into this."

"John," Molly started, uncomfortable that she would have to lie to John to hide it from him. She put on her best act of letting her eyes get watered up and looked up at him; "there's nothing more we can do now. Maybe it would be best for you if you just let it be. If the police want to look into it, they will."

John wasn't ready to let go of it, but if Molly wasn't going to be on his side with it, then he would just drop the subject; he got quiet.

"I know, John. I know you miss him; I miss him too. But the best thing for everyone would be to move on."

"Did you- were you the one to examine the body?"

"No. I couldn't bear to do it," she let some tears flow. It was easier than she thought; the thought of Sherlock actually being dead made her feel uneasy, even though she knew he was in the next room, probably listening, and probably upset.

She wiped her eyes and picked up both of their empty tea cups and walked towards the kitchen. She gave John's shoulder a squeeze, "we'll get through this, these things just take time."

She was shocked at her easy composure with John. But there was no reason to be, he was easy to talk to, and it seemed as though he had needed some comfort.

"I should get going now."

She tried not to sound relieved when those words fell from him mouth. "Oh, alright"

"And you're sure you'll be okay here, by yourself? If you're ever afraid to be here, that room will always be open. I'm not replacing it with anyone."

"Thank you, John," she said as she hugged him. "And if you need to talk anymore, I'm a phone call away," she said, truthfully hoping he wouldn't. She wanted to help him, but she couldn't bear lying to John, she hated doing it. She just wanted to have Sherlock come out of the room and let them have a moment of reconcile, but she knew that wasn't realistic.

Sherlock listened closely, sitting on Molly's bed the entire time until he heard the door close. This was dreadful; he didn't understand why John hadn't moved on. People die, and you can't change that outcome, so why wasn't he over it yet?

He felt sullen though; he would rather not lie to his only friend, but there was no other way to do this, he thought, trying to shake off this bad feeling, it isn't conducive to the situation getting better. Not yet, at least.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

It was taking a lot longer to cope with what had happened to Molly than she expected. She was waking up a lot, crying, constantly reliving what had happened to her. Except every time she relived it in her dreams, she didn't get away from the guy. She always woke up just when she was on the brink of death. The past few nights had been like this, but the next night was worse.

She woke up to someone shaking her and telling her to calm down, she was screaming and flailing as someone was trying to restrain her, which under the circumstances, was making it worse.

"Molly, you need to relax. Molly, it's okay, no one is going to hurt you, but you need to calm down."

She went quiet and stopped flailing when she realized it was Sherlock, he was actually hugging her and trying to soothe her; it helped her before on the night of the attack, so he assumed this was the most logical thing to do to help her. She started crying into his shoulder, gripping him tight in his hug, and afraid to let go. She was tired of having dreams like this; she just wanted it all to disappear.

As she finally relaxed in his arms, he let go of her and stood up from the bed. As he went to leave she realized how much she didn't want to be alone.

"Sherlock?" she said nervously as he turned around to look at her, looking willing to help however he could. "Do you think, if it wouldn't be too much of a burden, maybe you could sleep in here tonight? I know it's an odd request, but I-"

Without even answering her he walked back towards her bed and around to the other side, lying down next to her. He made sure to stay at a distance, wanting to make sure she had enough space.

"Thank you," she said, nestling more comfortably into her spot and falling back to sleep.

He laid there on his back, worried she would wake up screaming and flailing again. He wanted to rush over to Lestrade and give his usual orders, but now he won't even know if they catch him unless John finds out and tells Molly; it wasn't fair. There was only one person who knew he still existed, and he was helpless to her. He was going to go out of his mind if he had to stay inside and do nothing for much longer.

This hadn't been easy, for either of them, but Molly made it tolerable; incredibly tolerable. He hated being stuck inside, but he didn't hate living there. Of course he missed John, and above all things would love to be able to return to 221B Baker Street, solving mysteries with John writing his ridiculous blog. But, if he had to live anywhere else, this was where he wanted to be. He was realizing that he actually did like spending time with her.

His thoughts were interrupted by Molly talking in her sleep, dreaming of her attack clearly, and started to fidget. There were tears running down her cheeks, but she was still sleeping.

He grabbed her hand to try and stir her awake, but when he went to speak she calmed down, squeezed the hand holding hers, and drifted back into her silent, peaceful sleep.

The next two hours were quiet, and Sherlock was assured that she wasn't going to stir again. He left her hand in his and drifted into sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The next morning, Molly woke up early for work. This was the best sleep she had gotten all week. She turned her head to the side and watched Sherlock sleep; he looked peaceful for once and it made her smile. Then, she looked down to see him holding her hand.

"What?" she mouthed, trying to figure out how to get out of bed without waking him up.

She gently moved her hand from out of his grasp and all Sherlock did was roll over and curl up in his usual fetal position.

Sherlock woke up to find a hot cup of tea on the end table next to his side of the bed. There were also a few biscuits and a note.

_ Thank you for helping me last night, Sherlock. I'm sorry I asked you to stay in here with me, but it really helped. See you after work,_

_ Xo Molly_

Molly walked in with the take-away and put it on the kitchen counter. She was reminiscing of waking up next to Sherlock with her hand in his.

"You're thinking is disrupting me. It's annoying," Sherlock said in a harsh tone.

"Sorry?" she said, trying to understand what his issue was, or what she had done.

"You are _disrupting_ my thoughts; I can't think."

"Sherlock, are you alright?" she asked, stopping with the plates in her hands she was taking out for dinner, ignoring his insults, and starting to feel a little worried.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Sherlock has never really been able to talk about his feelings. She had been able to see through his act when everything was in uproar, and that hadn't changed.

"Well, you just seem like something might be wrong, and if you need to talk about it, I'm here f-" she said sincerely concerned, but he interrupted her.

"I'm bored."

She was confused as to why that was so incredibly bothersome to him. "Bored?" she repeated.

"BORED. YES! That's what I said. I need a case. I. AM. BORED," he stood up, beginning to pace. "I need something to do. I'm tired of being here and I want to go back to Baker Street and continue with my cases; that's all I want," he spewed out angrily.

Molly closed her eyes tightly, feeling the sharp insult of his words and quietly asked, "You're sick of being here?"

"Yes, but as you can see, I can't do anything about it. I still have no plan as to how to introduce myself back to John, Lestrade, and the public. I'm _stuck _here."

Molly took his words much differently than Sherlock had meant them. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she was silent as she placed the plates down gently on the counter and went into her room, closing the door behind her.

Sherlock sat down on the couch and started to analyze what he said to her; what could he have said to make her so upset?

He repeated the words quietly out loud to himself, trying to find the moment that made what he was saying so hurtful. He rolled over the words _tired of being here… stuck here, _and realized the context that had set off the sad spark in a sensitive Molly, thinking it was because of her. She had tried so hard to do whatever it was that he needed from the start of this, and she felt unappreciated. After sitting there for a moment he realized he actually felt bad, and felt he should talk to her soon.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Sherlock could hear her stirring from nightmares on and off for two hours before he couldn't wait any longer. She was having flashbacks and he was sure the negative mood he sent her to bed with wasn't helping her sleep.

Sherlock quietly walked into Molly's room and closed the door behind him. Molly rolled over; "What are you doing in here?" she groaned, drowsy and still irritated. Sherlock being here was not exactly what she was wanting in her bedroom.

"An experiment," he answered her, stepping onto the bed and over her feet, lying down next to her. They were both looking up at the ceiling.

Her eyes became wild. "What did you put in my fridge?" she asked, mortified to hear that he may have put something in there similar to the contents of his fridge on Baker Street.

"Not that kind of experiment; I mean in here. You slept better last night when I stayed in here with you, and I could hear you having unpleasant dreams, so this will probably help you sleep."

She said nothing, but gave a loud, heavy sigh. She knew Sherlock was not very good at apologies, which he avoided like the plague. Normally she could just let his previous insults go, but this time it was different. It wasn't a comment about her appearance or her choice in men; it had to do with the two of them, about what had been going on.

"I hurt your feelings," he finally said awkwardly.

She sighed again, "this is where you're supposed to say you're so-"

"Molly Hooper," he said, grabbing her hand. "What I said earlier was misunderstood, and although I don't express gratitude well, I appreciate all that you have done. I don't feel trapped because I'm with you; I'm trapped because I can't go anywhere, and can't do anything; I couldn't even protect you, the person who helped protect me. If I had to choose anyone now that I would trust with my life like this again, it would still be you, and I would still be here. With everything that happened over a month ago, I realized how much you do count, and I am truly sorry for being so cruel." He went to kiss her cheek, but Molly had finally turned to look at him and their lips met. Neither of them was sure what to do, but Molly, overtaken by emotions, was the first to react; she kissed him again and again.

To her amazement, Sherlock complied. They were both lying on their sides now, facing each other, and Sherlock was brushing his mouth against her soft lips with the most innocent kisses, cupping one side of her face. Molly thought her embarrassing, clumsy side would come right out in this vulnerable position, but this was a natural feeling, and she wasn't nervous.

Molly was getting lost in the moment when Sherlock pulled his mouth away from hers and wrapped an arm around her. Molly moved herself in closer and rested her chin on top of his shoulder; their cheeks were brushing as Sherlock was stroking her hair.

They were silent for a while until Sherlock spoke up: "Molly?" he asked quietly, still holding her.

"Yes?" she answered, her eyes closed as she cuddled with him, blissfully ignorant to his sad tone of voice.

"I- I miss John, and Mrs. Hudson; and Baker Street," he said, his voice slightly broken up. "I don't have feelings like this often, but I think that's what has been putting me in such a dreadful mood."

She hugged him tight. "I know you do; but I believe in you, Sherlock. If you felt that the time was right, you would know right away, and you would be on your way back to Baker Street. It's only been a month and a half."

They were both quiet; Sherlock was thinking over what she said, giving him back his sense of confidence, and the drowsy Molly was trying to let him think everything over.

Molly felt so _comfortable_ with Sherlock for the first time. She now rested her cheek upon Sherlock's chest and fell asleep in his arms; they remained that way throughout the night, both sleeping soundly. Not even a glimpse of horrible nostalgia could push its way into Molly's dream state. He made her feel safe and sound in his arms.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The next two weeks had flown by, leaving Molly's head spinning. She couldn't believe that the "asexual married to his work," _Sherlock Holmes_, could have feelings for anyone, let alone her. She had always had feelings for Sherlock, ever since she first met him at Bart's, but with this new side of Sherlock she could see, his allowance of sentiment, she was falling in love.

He had slept in her bed every night; her nightmares had gone away, and he was getting closer to figuring out a plan of action for making himself known again. Things were starting to look well.

Molly had gotten herself more comfortable with him, and Sherlock barely saw her stutter or get nervous with him anymore. He had analyzed her as long as he had known her; whenever she had a successful date in the past (well, what she considered successful), she still resumed her unconfident, nervous self around Sherlock. He wasn't sure why, but contemplation was interrupted by Molly sitting down on the couch, putting her hand on his side as he tried to subside what sounded like a chuckle.

Molly stopped and looked straight at Sherlock, giggling. "Sherlock Holmes," she asked, "are you ticklish?"

He picked up the paper and looked over it, avoiding eye contact, "that's silly, Molly, what gave you that idea?" he tried to sound convincing and put on his usual cold facade, but an uncontrollable half-smirk shined across his face.

"Nevermind," she said, pretending to frown as she reached her hand over and started tickling him again.

Sherlock began to fight back. "It is a normal physiological response. Ican't help it," he said as he pinned her down on the couch, locking eyes with her. She stopped trying to tickle him and lifted her head up so their foreheads were touching. Sherlock moved his lips as close as possible to hers without them touching. She was anxiously waiting for him to move the rest of the way, but she was finding patience to be difficult. She went to move her mouth against his and he pulled away.

"No, no, Molly Hooper," he said, pressing her down so she was lying flat on her back. He gently grabbed her chin with his thumb and forefinger and turned her head to the side. "You know I couldn't possibly get involved with any sort of _sentiment_; that isn't my area," he continued to tease, smiling. He began kissing along her jawline, starting from right below her ear and all down her neck; it made her shiver.

He moved the rest of his body onto the couch, putting his weight into his knees as her legs were between them. Molly put her arms around Sherlock's neck and pulled his face down, starting to kiss him.

These were not the innocent kisses Sherlock was used to with her; everything had been naïve and playful up to this point, but this was not the feeling he was getting from Molly. She was kissing him intensely, pushing her body up against his and rolling her hips.

Sherlock returned the passion two-fold. He was moving his hands all over her body, kissing all over her neck and collarbone, continuously returning his lips to hers. He was moving his hands up under her shirt, when a loud, annoying, vibrating sound was going against the coffee table.

He grabbed the phone off the table and handed it to her; she didn't bother looking at the name, but she nuzzled her head against his neck. "I'm sorry."

"Hello?" she answered.

"For the safety of your beloved Sherlock Holmes I would start calling me John," a familiar voice said.

Molly's heart stopped as images flashed in her head, bringing her back to memories of her attack. After that scare she could recognize his voice anywhere. She wasn't sure what was going on, but she had to react quickly if she didn't want Sherlock to notice. She stood up and walked over towards the window, trying to hope Sherlock couldn't hear the other end of the conversation.

"Hey John," she choked out, trying to stay composed but was a little shaky, "how are you holding up?"

"He's upset, and he needs you to come see him, right away," he said, letting out a deep chuckle in confidence. "That is, unless you'd like something to really happen to Sherlock."

"Oh, uhm, I'll come over and we can talk about it. Just give me a few minutes? Okay?"

"Bart's."

She hung up the phone, shoving it in her pocket as she rushed to put on her scarf and coat. "John's upset; he misses you, and he needs someone to talk to. I'll be back as soon as I can, alright?"

"That wasn't John; the number was blocked," he replied as Molly remembered that he had picked up the phone to hand it to her. Sherlock was already skeptical; she had to think of something quick before he wouldn't let her go. She already had to hide his death; she didn't need to put him through more than he'd already been. He's still in hiding.

"His mobile died, he was borrowing someone else's" she said, struggling to get her boots on. "He really doesn't sound good, Sherlock, I need to go."

She walked out the door and shut it behind her. Sherlock was immediately trying to formulate what was going on, but she ran back in and went up to Sherlock. She grabbed his face and gave him a long, passionate kiss. "I love you, Sherlock," she said. Her eyes were glossed, and they looked frantic and worried as she was running back out the door. She was gone before he could think of any sort of response.

Sherlock walked over to the window as Molly got into the cab and it took off. The cab wasn't going the right way; it should've gone in the opposite direction if she was going to Baker Street.

The disposable phone that Molly had gotten for Sherlock in case of emergency was sitting next to him, he sent her a text asking what she was doing, but wasn't getting a reply. He was sitting on the couch, he closed his eyes, putting his hands together and touching them to his mouth. _What could it be?_

He was worrying that it had to do with him. There was no way he was going to put his friends in danger again, especially not Molly. He began pacing the room, he sent another text insisting to know what was going on, but still there was no answer.

Suddenly his phone dinged and he picked up right away, but it wasn't from Molly; it was an unknown number.

It read "_She counts too," _with no attached signature. 

His first instinct was to think of Moriarty. This didn't make sense though, how could he still be alive? He paced back and forth, closing the message and opening a new one, entering John's number, telling him it was Molly and she needed him to come to her flat right away.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Molly was shaking as the cab was getting closer to her work. How could she deal with the person who attacked her? And what did it have to do with Sherlock? Surely she wasn't going to ignore the instructions because she didn't want him to get hurt.

Her phone dinged for the second time and when she looked at it, she saw two messages from Sherlock asking where she was going. She sighed and closed the message, not responding. Doing this would protect Sherlock, and keep him out of harm's way.

There was a loud knock at Molly's door, and Sherlock opened it.

"John," he began, "I know this is confusing but-"

Before Sherlock knew it, John's fist met his face and he fell to the floor. "What the _hell_, Sherlock. Christ… How long were you going to wait before you decided it was a good enough time to come back?"

"Look, John, I will explain everything to you, but I need you to help me right now."

"Help you? You let me think-"

"John, Moriarty has Molly," he said, looking worried. "It has to be Moriarty," he said, muttering under his breath. John helped him to his feet, and starting to become anxious to hear that his friend who had already been attacked now too long ago was being attacked again.

"Moriarty? How? I thought he died too… or was that another lie?"

"No, it doesn't make sense. He shot himself in front of me. It has to be Moriarty; who else would do this?" He paused for a moment and handed John the laptop, "I need you to track Molly's mobile for me."

He was pacing, trying to sort this out in his head. It didn't make sense; he played it over and over in his mind and came to the same result every time. That bullet went through his head; you can't fake something like that. Coming out of his thoughts, he felt like what had only been a minute or two seemed to be dragging on forever. "Come on, John. How long does it take to track a bloody phone?"

"Bart's."

The cab ride began quiet, but John was confused, he wanted answers, and they had some time on their way to the hospital. "I knew it, I knew you weren't dead," John said, trying to keep his emotions composed. "That's why Molly told me to give up; you were there the whole time with her and she couldn't say anything. For God's sake, Sherlock, I was at her flat, why couldn't you have told me then?"

"I'm sorry."

John was silent.

"Moriarty had you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade; you were all being targeted. If I had not done this, you would all be dead. He shot himself to assure it couldn't be called off. I needed you distracted; the false call about Mrs. Hudson, the biker running into you, that was all on purpose so that you were two steps behind me and that made it so I could keep all of you safe."

"But Molly, Moriarty wasn't after her?"

"Not until now," he said, his face dropping. He looked out the window, "that's why I had her help me, and that's why I've been staying there since I 'died,'" he sighed clenching his fists. "And this is the second time since my death that I couldn't protect her; this is my fault. I'm tired of hiding, and I'm not going to do it anymore, but we need to find her fast." He was getting irritated by all of the traffic. They were only a minute or two away from the hospital, but everything was backed up. He tossed money to the cabby. "

"We don't have this kind of time to wait." He ran and John followed behind him.

They walked into Molly's work space out of breath and saw a mess all around her lab. Things were thrown everywhere, knocked down. There was an envelope sitting there. He picked it up and began analyzing it.

His eyes shot to the top left corner of the envelope. There was an ink stamp of an old water mill pressed on the envelope. He rubbed his index finger together with his thumb to reveal the ink between them; it was still wet and the corner of the stamp smudged.

Then, he opened the envelope to pull out a five pound note. He looked over every bit of that note, extracting every piece of it and mentally laying it out, looking for something that wasn't right. The corner of the note caught his eye. On the right side of the note, the numbers had clearly been changed; it read down 101996.

Sherlock began feeling a sense of an adrenaline rush. He had gone so long without a case and mystery was finally filling his mind, asking him to solve. The feeling didn't last though, as soon as he remembered who they were looking for, the excitement didn't matter at all. For the first time, Sherlock _did not_ want a case; he did not want anything interesting to figure out.

John saw the emotion wash over him. "Are you okay, Sherlock?" he asked. He had immediately forgiven him and went back into best friend mode.

"It doesn't matter right now." He didn't have time to discuss emotions; he had to rely on thinking at the moment.

He put the note back into the envelope and placed it in his pocket; next to where the envelope had been placed was a handwritten note.

_You're getting rusty, old friend. I thought you'd have her by now. I would hurry though; you never know how much time you have left._

_Also, have a look at the floor; I think you'll find something of interest._

_ Cheers!_

"NO," Sherlock yelled out angrily, pounding his fist on the table.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"Is-is that Molly's blood?" John said, staring down at it.

Sherlock ignored the question, still trying to eliminate emotions from his mind and replace it with logic. He was finding it more difficult than he ever had. He was trying to think quickly, a mental map of the water mills he knew were close to here. There were only two that had been relatively close.

Sherlock began; "there is a water mill in Cardiff; they still have it working for decoration and give tours. But there's nothing _special_ about it." He was growing more frustrated with thinking; he was running out of time, so then he turned to John. "John, the water mill outside of London; what can you tell me about it?"

"The mill was built in the 1800's, but in the last 50 years it was up, it wasn't being properly used; it was way out of date, but they kept it as a landmark."

Sherlock was becoming impatient, "something helpful, John, relative information," he hissed through his teeth.

"After it broke and nearly flooded London, they took it down and there were huge debates about turning it into a pound printing press, but it never happened."

"When?"

"1996."

They arrived at the water mill, walking into the back door to hear muffled sounds that were at the far end; they were coming from the other side of the mill. Sherlock was walking very briskly, and John was struggling to keep up with him.

The sounds became clearer as they finally got part of the way across the huge mill; they realized it was Molly crying. The sounds were still muffled but soon became silent and Sherlock ran to where he had heard the sound, with John following.

Sherlock reached her and saw her lying in a bath, with some sort of needle in the vein of her arm. The water had just risen over her mouth and nostrils and she was restrained. Her panic had caused her to breathe in some of the water, and she began choking. He quickly untied the restrains and pulled her up, quickly pulling the needle out of her arm. It had been drawing blood out of her body and into a bucket.

Sherlock took off his coat and handed it to John. Then he picked up Molly like a child and lifted her out of the bath, holding her head close to his chest and placed her down onto the ground; she was choking out water that had escaped into her lungs. John laid the coat over her while Sherlock was still hugging her tight and kissed her forehead. "Breathe, Molly," he said.

John noticed the kiss, but brushed the thought aside, his main concern was to make sure Molly was okay.

"Molly, are you alright?" he asked before John had the chance to. She couldn't talk but she nodded.

He was looking around; this had been too easy. There was a bigger purpose for him coming here; it had to have only been a lure.

"John," Sherlock said as John took his spot and was tending to Molly, trying to keep her calm.

A smooth, confident voice came over an intercom, reminding him of his former arch enemy. "You didn't really think it was Moriarty, did you? He may not feel like a human, but he's just as mortal as you and I, Sherlock. He told you before that he should get a live assistant, and whose advice would he take other than his own?" he asked, chuckling to himself. "I figured it would be appropriate to give myself a dramatic entrance. Plus, I needed some way to get you out of the house. I was beginning to think our dear Molly had you chained up inside."

At the sound of her name, he looked down at poor Molly, trying to reassure himself that she was okay now that John was looking to her.

"Why are you so concerned with Dr. Hooper? She survived the first attack from me, and I let her survive this one. You should be celebrating my generosity!"

It infuriated him more to realize that the attacker he couldn't help investigate was in front of him, he had already assaulted her before, and it had happened again. "What do you want?" Sherlock growled powerfully.

"Don't be a poor sport; you've gone for so long without some fun. I thought a little adventure might be good for you! All I wanted you to know was that just because Moriarty is dead, that doesn't mean that it's over. The final problem is still not taken care of." After no response, he continued with his speech. "Don't worry though, Sherlock, that's for another day," he said, his voice sounding incredibly chipper. "Chiao!"

The intercom went silent.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Sherlock was pacing outside of his room at his Baker Street home, which Molly was sleeping in, trying to recover. She had been waking up screaming all night; this was worse than she had been since her nightmares from the first attack. He wanted to go in there and hold her and help her sleep, but he felt so guilty, and was putting off facing her. John had been going in the room to wake her up from her nightmares.

She probably should have been in the hospital, but Sherlock refused. John was there to take care of her, and he had an IV and blood transfusion hooked up to her in the room. This was the easiest way for Sherlock to assure nothing could harm her.

"Sherlock, she'll be okay," John said, as they could both hear her beginning to fidget in her sleep.

Sherlock stopped pacing and looked up at John. "That is not the sound of okay. If I hadn't dragged her into this mess, they would still think I didn't care about her; both attacks could have been avoided."

She was crying again, and without even thinking about facing her, Sherlock went in the room before John could, rushing to her side. He was sitting on the bed and holding her close, trying to calm her. He stayed like this until she was silent and beginning to dose off again.

John walked in; he cared about her too, and wanted to assure himself she was fine. "Is everyth-" he began to ask, but was interrupted by the sight of Sherlock and Molly. Her face was resting against his chest and he pressed a kiss on her head as he was stroking her hair. Neither of them looked up, which gave John the opportunity to see himself out before disturbing Molly's calm state.

He shook his head, smiling to himself. It was strange to see Sherlock Holmes like this, but John figured it would be good for him.

Sherlock was silent until he thought she was asleep. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his mouth still resting upon her head and still holding her tight.

A tear escaped from her eye and fell onto his shirt. "Sherlock, it's okay," she tried to say more, but her voice was hoarse from the water that had occupied her throat and lungs the day before.

He closed his eyes, still upset with himself. "Molly, just try and rest, please." He attempted to get up, but she grabbed his hand and pulled him into his bed. She cuddled up close to him, and as she relaxed, so did he and they both fell asleep.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

A week went by and Molly was almost fully recovered. She was getting restless and couldn't wait to go back to her morgue. She thought she'd be missing her flat by now, but she didn't. She loved being there; it kept Sherlock less on edge to be able to keep watch on her, and John found it nice to have someone else there all the time who understood how Sherlock worked. She could tell how much he had missed Baker Street, and she was going to be sad when Sherlock didn't think it was necessary for her to stay anymore.

Though, one of the best things for her to see was the reconciliation between John and Sherlock. They both pretended to be less excited about it, but they had both missed their best friend. Not only this, but everyone knew Sherlock was back; he didn't have to hide anymore, which was a huge relief.

Molly encouraged John to get Sherlock out of the house and on a new case. They wanted to keep his mind off of this new "assistant" that had taken over for Moriarty. John had convinced Sherlock to start a new case with the consolation that at least Mrs. Hudson would keep Molly company while they were out.

Sherlock walked into his room to find Molly reading one of her romance novels. She was trying to do something constructive (well, sort of constructive), with her last day before going back to work. She was so enwrapped in the story that she hadn't even noticed him come in.

Sherlock pushed her book down into her lap, looking a little concerned. He lifted her chin with his forefinger and wiped the tear from her cheek. "Is this because of the rubbish you're reading?"

"Yes," she laughed, wiping her eyes. He sat down next to her, sitting up against the pin board.

Molly sat up, cuddling close against his chest, and picked her book back up. He mindlessly ran his hand through her hair, lost in thought.

His eye caught the stitched cut next to her eyebrow from when she was attacked and winced. She could see him staring at it from the corner of her eye and shut the book.

"No, Sherlock."

"What?"

"I may not be clever or be able to deduce like you can, but I can see that your upset. You think I don't see it, but I've always seen it. We've been through this before; and stop blaming yourself."

"But I should've seen it coming. I can't change the outcome, but it shouldn't have happened in the first place."

"You really don't get it, do you? The one thing that doesn't need to be solved is right in front of you, and you can't see it."

"What do you mean?"

"I love you, Sherlock. I said it and I meant it. It wasn't out of fear, or just one of those things people say when they think they're going to die; I wanted you to know in case I didn't see you again. I would do everything the same to keep you safe. I've always done what I can to be there for you, and nothing has changed that."

Sherlock pulled Molly into his lap so she was facing him and first kissed her forehead, to her nose, and down to her mouth. When he met her lips, he was kissing her intensely, running his hands up her sides.

She immediately started unbuttoning his purple shirt and pushed it off of his shoulders, running her hands all over his chest. She made the kisses more intimate, parting her mouth open slightly and biting down gently on his bottom lip.

He let out a small groan, rolling his hips against hers, moving his hand up to cup her breast. He moved his mouth down, giving her neck and collarbone his attention. He gently nipped all over and then pulled her shirt off.

Since Molly had been lying in bed, she hadn't bothered to wear pants. Immediately he slid his hand under the cotton, gently rubbing a finger over her most sensitive spot. She gasped, running her fingers through his long curls, slightly tugging.

Molly grazed her hand over Sherlock's pants, rubbing over where the bulge was. She moved her mouth down to his neck while undoing his pants, pulling everything off him along with her own panties. She pushed her body closer against his, kissing him passionately.

Sherlock rolled onto his side on the bed as Molly still had her hands entangled in his curls, both of them out of breath as they were exchanging gentle kisses.

He moved so he was on his back now and Molly put her head on his chest; he laced one hand with hers and kissed the top of her forehead.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

It had been a week since Molly had been back to her second home at Bart's, but was confused because her first home was currently still on Baker Street. She thought that Sherlock would have hinted that he wanted her to go home by now, and she was worried she was overstaying her welcome with both him and John.

She walked into 221B and hung up her coat. She figured that maybe she should have a talk with Sherlock about going back to her flat; she didn't want to leave at all, but she didn't want anyone to feel uncomfortable. She was also afraid that he would not understand and hurt her feelings in the process if he was the one to tell her.

As she had been hanging her coat up, John walked by, giving her a hello as he walked out the door, mentioning that he was going on some errands because Sherlock was never going to get them done.

She walked into Sherlock's room and saw him skimming through the novel she had just finished and she laughed. "I thought that was rubbish?"

"It is," he said, not looking up from the book. "I wanted to see if I could figure out why it had _you_ so intrigued."

She scrunched her nose and went to sit down on the bed, trying to figure out how to bring up the subject.

He looked up at her, "something's bothering you."

"Well- I- yes sort of," she said, "I was just wondering when you wanted me to move back into my flat…"

He gave her a look of confusion, "why would I want you to do that?"

"Well, Baker Street is your home… when you were stuck at my flat you told me that all you wanted was to go back to where you were before and work on your cases. I know the circumstance is a little bit different now, but this is your home with John. Plus, what about John's feelings on this, it's his flat too…"

"John was the one that suggested to me that you should live here. He likes you here, and he talks about you being good for me, or something of that sort."

She gave a small smirk, "well, are you sure that's what you want? I know you're going to have your cases and I don't want to be in your way."

"Molly," he said, getting up and walking over to her, grabbing her hand. "These feelings I have for you… they are the closest thing to love I have ever experienced. And yes, Baker Street is my home, but living with you is something that I identify as part of my home situation now, and I don't want that to change. You've been here for two weeks, and I think it's been rather pleasant, so why wouldn't I want you to stay?"

She nodded; her eyes were glossy and she kissed his cheek. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her. This allowance of sentiment in Sherlock's life allowed Molly to see a whole other side of him, which only made her love him more. He was right though, if she had went back to her flat without Sherlock there, it would've been the same for her; it wouldn't have felt like home unless Sherlock was there with her.


End file.
